


Heart of the Ocean

by madamewriterofwrongs



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, Depression, Drama, Drowning, Forbidden Love, Gen, Kissing, Letters, Little Mermaid Elements, Love Confessions, M/M, Music, Mythology References, Ocean, Pining, Poetic, Sailing, Storms, Swimming, War, mermaid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:42:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29954952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madamewriterofwrongs/pseuds/madamewriterofwrongs
Summary: Prince Buck loves the ocean more than anything. More than his title, more than his duties, more than his life. All that matters is his music and the ocean. He never thought the day would come when he felt betrayed by the only thing he cared about.When he meets a young boy and his father, everything changes. Not just his heart, but his mind as well. The world he thought was so simple is filled with mermaids and monsters and people he loves - even if they can never be together.His father is a ruthless man, and his sister is heir apparent (despite his family insisting the crown should pass to him). Soon, their kingdom may be at war and Buck will have to make a decision:Love or Duty?
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this monster, like, six months ago but I'm finally at a place where I feel like I can start to share. Hopefully, this will help fill the hiatus void (and beyond). Thank you, Eli, for the initial inspiration. Mads, for editing the first few chapters. Zee and Cookie for listening to me whine about everything. 
> 
> Updates will come frequently.
> 
> Enjoy!

The soft summer breeze carried the scent of the salt sea foam to the open shore, where a man sat writing in a notebook worn by time and curiosity. Like the wind, the book smelt of the ocean as a reminder to the writer of his deepest desires. He stayed the fluttering pages with his exposed forearm and kept a weathered eye on the horizon. No storm would come tonight, he observed. Disappointment tickled his stomach at the thought of more dry, stale air.

Yet still, one look to the world before him and he lips curled up with hope. Before him lay the only thing he had never conquered (never understood) and yet longed for. His chest beat in time with the crashing waves from sunset to sunrise, when he’d been able to escape the confines of obligation. Those were his only true moments of freedom.

With the last of the daylight, he continued to scribble note after note; his incomplete cantata taunting him from the page but he continued to hear the music in his mind.

It was an unfamiliar melody that had haunted his dreams since childhood. No matter how many times he wrote it out, no matter the skill of the vocalist or instrument, no one in the kingdom had been able to match the song in his mind. Even his own voice butchered every melodic measure.

Still, he wrote in the privacy of the sand and waves and summer breeze; a song no one was ever meant to hear.

The only solace he found, was in the thought of ‘someday’ – whatever that word came to mean as he grew older. Today, it meant seeking the world beyond the horizon and wondering what treasures lay beneath the crystal blue waves. What depths he wished to explore could not be measured by any mortal instrument. The more he dreamed of the ocean and her mysteries, the more he longed to disappear beneath the waves.

Looking out at the surface, burnt by the setting sun, he pondered how easy it would be to dip his toes into the sand and disappear.

Perhaps he would.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, shirt fluttering as the wind gathered her long fingers around the edges of his tunic. The sand cooled under his skin, squelching and sinking around him as his weight pulled him forward. He held his treasures tightly in his right hand, the left free to deftly stretch towards the ocean just out of his reach. A spray of water danced around his ankles and bit his fingertips in greeting; how he longed to live beyond the moments of snarling and gasping waves, drift to the place where everything was calm and beautiful.

Each slow, sliding step brought him closer to his destination. His feet, his ankles, his calves, soaked to his rolled up pantlegs, filling him with the sweetest freedom. The world around fell to a hush of its former self and instead, the roar of the waves lapping at his legs and the rushing of the wind past his ears, were the only things that mattered.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to step further and further under; a few more steps and he could finally taste that desperate release.

“What are you doing?”

He stumbled back against the sand, book and pen soaring as his arms flew back in time to catch himself in the shallow water. Though he’d planned to continue dipping his soaked clothes into the ocean, the cold, sandy stains on his backside were not how he intended to begin his journey. Heart steadily beating out of his chest, he turned to search the shore for any sign of the intruder.

A small gasp pulled his attention back towards the water. “Are you alright?”

Sure enough, a boy with blond curls and a smile to rival the mid-day sun, propped himself against a rock only a few meters out. His hair and exposed torso were completely dry and yet, there was nothing surrounding him but ocean. Stranger still, the boy seemed unfazed by his predicament, seemingly trapped out at sea.

“Who are you?” The man called out as he pressed himself to his feet.

The boy puffed his chest excitedly. “My name’s Christopher. Who are you?”

A question to which he had no real answer and yet, he strived for a polite and authoritative voice – the kind his father had taught him to use only in the company of others.

“I’m Buck.” He reached down to retrieve his book, a wary eye on the boy (Christopher) as he dusted the scuffed pages. His mind pulled down to the measures on the page, examining each for any sign of permanent damage obtained in his reckless fall. Thankfully, all seemed to be salvageable.

“Where are your parents?” he asked the boy.

Christopher’s eyes grew sad, scrunching his face as he answered “My mom is gone. But my dad’s not far. He’s the king.”

Buck couldn’t help the chuckle of surprise. “I highly doubt that. Seeing as I am the king’s son and I would know if I had a younger brother.” Probably. He observed the boy’s golden curls and grey eyes that, upon reflection, seemed very familiar. It could be that there were more siblings than anyone in the kingdom knew about.

“Not here.” Christopher’s laughter healed a small crack in his twisted soul, and a single note from his composition sank into place. “He’s king out there.” He pointed towards the horizon and a new picture came into view: of royals lost at sea, and shipwrecked heroes diving to save their most precious cargo so at least they may survive the journey. “What were you doing?” the boy’s voice was slow and curious, as if forming every word was foreign and practiced.

“I was…” He hesitated. How to explain to a child the yearning for a life he could never have, and yet striding towards it knowing it could mean the end of everything. “I was running away.”

Another laughter, like the tinkle of a bell, and Buck’s heart ached for something he never knew he needed. His fingers twitched against the book as if writing another measure of music for just this boy.

“You can’t run in the ocean, silly. You can only swim.”

Of that, he knew well enough. Another glance to the horizon reminded him of his limitations and longings. “I wish I could swim further.”

“I can.” Christopher pulled up onto the rock exposing more of his thin, unsun-kissed skin. Their ship must have felled not far from where they were. “I can swim so far. I’m even faster than dad.”

“Are you?” Buck felt a soft pull towards the boy, a kindred spirit in their love of the water and curious hearts. “Christopher, we should get you inside and cleaned up. You must have travelled very far.”

At this, the boy sunk back against the rock, not quite rejection, but a well-learned apprehension in his sparking eyes. “I’m not supposed to go with strangers. But I can sit here and talk to you until my dad comes to get me.”

Knowing the boy’s father would be appearing soon – at the very least, he had a sincere hope – did ease his heart. He prayed Christopher wasn’t so lost that he had dreamt of his family. No matter what, Buck would care for him, even if it meant sitting in the sand with his wet pants and chatting with him at a distance until it was time to part.

“What were you writing?”

Buck looked down at the soiled notation book in his hands and felt his soul crack again, exposing the longing he’d held in since childhood.

“I was writing a song (well, trying to write a song).” Two notes sung from the mouths of babes was not enough to convince him that his opus had any hope of surviving.

“What’s the song about?”

The Prince had been asked many difficult questions in his time: When will your father abdicate? Why did you let your sister be named successor over you? Where does your mind go when it wanders off? Why would I love you for anything other than your status?

He somehow found an answer to every single time he was faced with the harsh truth of his being. His diplomacy and desire to please others had stood the test of time, but one question from this child, and his entire fortress seemed to crumble down around him.

“I don’t know what it’s about.” Buck drifted down at the pages – a foreign object – in his hand. “I just know that I have to write it.”

“Is your dad really the king?”

The relieved laughter that Christopher pulled with his endless curiosity was the first reprieve from his tormented thoughts in weeks. He could tell him anything and the young boy would listen and ask more questions and hear him.

He didn’t know how much he needed that until it was presented to him on a rock in the middle of the ocean.

Perhaps that was what put him so at ease, and not the boy at all. It was the gentle waves, and the steady purring as the sun set behind the rock. Like a vision, Christopher sat with him (hands tucked under his chin, eyes wide with curiosity) asking him question after question until the sun finally cut a thin line across the water, pointing the way home.

Home: what an awful, arbitrary term for the place he rested his head. ‘Home’ for Buck had never been behind the palace walls, with their stone and marble – clean and white without a hair out of place. Like a fool, he’d always longed for the sea. The one thing he’d never have. Even as a boy, he’d spent his sparingly little time, at the docks watching the ships leave port to explore the worlds unknown. As he grew older and braver, he’d managed to sneak aboard a small vessel, and that was where his true love affair began.

“When the Captain found me hiding below deck, I thought he was going to throw me overboard, he looked so angry.” Buck rocked back from the force of his laughter, delighting in the giggle he produced from his new companion. “He grabbed me by the back of the collar and lifted me into the air. My feet were dangling at least three meters off the ground.” He kicked his feet out, brushing up too much sand in his attempt to demonstrate his harrowing ordeal. “He looked at me with his one good eye and sneered.” Buck’s growl and impression of the one-eyed man brought another bought of melody carried on the wind. “He told me ‘Boy’.” Admittedly, his gruff accented voice did no favors for the man who held fond memories of his childhood. “‘Boy, the next time you want to steal aboard a merchant ship in search of fortune and fame, make sure you know where you’re going’.”

“Where were you going?” Christopher leaned forward, head bouncing in the palm of his hands as he excitedly awaited the next saga of his grand adventure.

What else could he do but lean forward and deliver on his promise. “They were on a half-day fishing trip across the reef to collect sunken cargo. I never even left the boarder of our lands.”

The boy’s eyes grew wide. “That’s it?”

“You don’t even want to ask what the cargo was?” Buck teased, his cheeks aching from the joy in his heart. “It could have been Aztec gold, or a lost Egyptian Queen, or a whole battalion’s worth of Chinese swords pilfered from the great pirate queen herself that were thrown overboard to keep them away from another kingdom’s soldiers.” Memories of his grand adventures – slowly stolen by age and responsibility – robbed Buck of his smile for just a moment.

“What was it?”

Again, Buck leaned in to the story, absorbing the boy’s enthusiasm as he spoke. “It was a whole chest of…gunpowder.”

Christopher’s face twisted into something that might have been disgust on any face that hadn’t proven itself to be curious and honest. “Gunpowder?”

“Do you not have gunpowder where you’re from?” It seemed odd that the boy was unfamiliar with the word (at his age, his father had sent him off on his own to inspect a group of troops headed to battle the next morning). He had lived so much of his life with the smell of gunpowder and dirt washing over the salt and sand, he forgot that not every child had lived under such a suffocating shadow.

“What does it do?”

“It makes things explode.”

“Like a volcano?”

“Sort of.” Buck had the aching realization that honesty might steal something of the boy’s soul he wasn’t ready to lose. After only knowing him for a few hours, he felt the test of their kindred bond as he pressed on. “It’s used to hurt people when they’re trying to hurt you. It…” Buck resisted the word ‘destroy’, hoping to side-step the imagery burned into his mind as he remembered the number of troops he’d inspected compared to the number of troops who returned home. “It doesn’t always hurt the right people.”

There was silence Buck had never heard before. The sound of the lapping waves could not penetrate the stillness between them. Christopher understood him. Somehow, this young boy with so much light and curiosity, understood the words that Buck couldn’t bring himself to say.

And it shattered what was left of his heart.

“You went to the reef to get it?” The words were quieter than they’d been all evening, nearly swallowed by the ocean in which he seemed so comfortable.

“That box was unusable because it had been in the water for too long. But there’s always more.” He wasn’t sure if his words were a warning or a reassurance but they seemed to do neither. The boy’s expression was set firmly in discomfort and confusion, lost in some memory.

Perhaps he was thinking of his mother. He wouldn’t dare ask the child where his mother had gone – though he certainly had his suspicions – maybe he could politely ask his father when he arrived. Though, surely Christopher’s father should have arrived by now. The sun had finally set, the sliver replaced by a grinning moon, and yet there was no sign of anyone who would come care for the boy.

“Christopher, whe-”

“I should go.” Buck jumped when he made his boisterous declaration, as if their last few minutes of solemnities hadn’t been weighing on his mind. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“No, I’m sailing away tomorrow.” His answer came automatically as his mind struggled to keep up with their conversational whiplash. “I won’t be back here for at least a month.”

One month at sea, off to meet a potential ally on his father’s behalf. He didn’t care if he was sailing to the ends of the earth looking for the Garbhodaka Ocean so long as he could get there by ship - and far away from his father’s land.

“Oh.”

Was he leaving something behind in his haste for freedom? The disappointment in Christopher’s voice was unfamiliar and yet weighed his stomach to the sand like rocks tying him to this very spot. Begging him not to go.

It was seemed ridiculous. He’d known this boy for only a few hours, and no amount of connection or bond that had formed between them could erase the mystery of his being – nor Buck’s need to escape. He couldn’t let one fateful encounter sway his resolve.

“Christopher…” he tried again, but his thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name just down the beach.

“Prince Evan, there you are!” his manservant exclaimed, a stiff upper lip hiding any trace of the humor he had when he’d had a few to many mugs of ale. Tonight, he was not Buck’s friend, he was the Prince’s Handler. “You need your rest if we’re to sail before dawn.”

_Don’t leave without saying goodbye_. That was the voice the propelled Buck to look back out to the rock where he’d spent his evening conversing with the most fascinating child.

“Christopher?”

The boy had vanished from sight. Had he slipped? Had his arms finally given out and he’d fallen under the waves to be carried out to the open ocean while no one was looking?

Sand flew everywhere, carried on the wind all the way back to the castle, in Buck’s haste to rise to his feet and dive into the water after his new friend. Unlike his numerous excursions, tonight, the water around his legs was ice and stillness – no trace of the inviting tide he’d stepped into before. The pain in his chest had nothing to do with the chill around him, his mind only raised with a single thought: Save Christopher. He swam as far as his arms could carry him, ignoring the cries from the shore to return home, all the while crying out for the little boy.

Nothing. No splash, no sound, no sign that a boy had even sat on the rock and made Buck laugh and think and hope with his curious mind.

Had he imagined the entire thing?

Had he been so lonely that the gods sent a vision to keep him company for a few hours to remind him of the world he still inhabited?

Was he well and truly losing his mind?

Arms aching from the sudden exertion, Buck paddled to his awaiting responsibilities – a man with his arms folded over his chest and a disgruntled look on his face that he knew all too well – but his mind was far away. Dreaming of the possibilities.

Maybe he’d met an angel, or a sprite. Maybe it was a genie who granted wishes and Buck had foolishly wasted its time on tales of his youth. Whatever or whoever Christopher was, he was now gone. And Buck was left alone.

“Do you feel better now?” The man threw the notebook into his soaking chest and turned back towards the castle without a second glance.

Buck supposed he deserved it. This wouldn’t have been his first nightly swim. But he’d never had a mission before (a purpose). But if Christopher wasn’t real…

Why had he bared his soul to the wind tonight?


	2. Chapter 2

It was a perfect day to sail (in Buck’s heart, it was always an ideal day to be out at sea, but today was particularly beautiful). The sky was clear – a royal purple that faded to white against the horizon – and a westerly wind blew quiet but strong, leading the ship out of harbor. He had his father’s expectations and his mother’s bible tucked safely tucked away for later perusal in the loneliness of his cabin once they were far away. In this moment, he could focus on helping the men disembark and watch the waves carry him towards his next adventure.

Or, he tried to focus, at least.

The lingering sound of a tinkling bell echoed on the wind. His arm ached from the ferocity in which he wrote note after note in his waterlogged journal, a new muse taking residence between his ears. That little boy who sat with him for hours; he’d never had a younger brother (nor a desire to raise children) but even as he set about his favourite task, his mind wandered towards Christopher.

Was he safe? Was he with his family? Was he real?

Though he’d mostly asked Buck questions about his life and his passion for the sea, what little he revealed of his own past was confusing to say the least. His father was King of a distant land, his mother was dead or gone before he could remember her face, he was an only child but had many people around him (that made sense: the only male heir to a throne would be heavily guarded). Every tale of his adventures was told under the sea. Chasing dolphins, or nursing turtles, or exploring deep caves with his friends. The boy must have grown up on a shore just as Buck had.

Why had he never heard of him or his father, King Edmundo – who liked to be called ‘Eddie’, Christopher informed him. Amidst his furious scribblings, he’d found himself buried in the reference books in the study, searching for any information about this foreign kingdom. Maybe, he could stop by on his way home and see if he’d imagined everything.

Finding nothing related to the Kingdom of Havsieta beyond some folkloric texts about ancient underwater creatures (clearly, his spelling must have been incorrect), Buck had slumped into bed, more frustrated and lost than ever.

When there was a knock at his chamber door only an hour or so after finally shutting his eyes, that loss was replaced with a thrumming in his fingertips. As he dressed and packed and kissed his sister goodbye, the pulsing spread up to his shoulders and split off to trickle up his neck and across his back. As he greeted the Captain, Master, and Purser (of course), it wrapped around his waist and over his hips. When he took his first step aboard the _Angelina_ , the pinpricks under his skin matched his footfalls. His body ignited with anticipation, only calmed with the steady constant of the rolling waves.

Once the port was a glimmer in his telescope, Buck finally exhaled. Freedom. It had been much work and a fair bit of secrecy, but he’d managed to befriend the crew of the _Angelina_. It was his personal vessel, after all, why should he not know every man who sailed with him? In truth, these men were more his family than the one he was leaving behind. Earning their trust, them allowing him to be their equal: it was his only reprieve. Now, he had one month with them, to forget about the struggles that awaited him when he returned but, most importantly, he could forget about his strange encounter.

Nothing else mattered except for Buck, his family, and the open ocean.

One week into their journey had the men in high spirits. Familiar songs (which had once burned a young Buck’s ears) were shouted over the roar of the wind, accompanied by laughter and the knocking of metal against wood while they worked. At night, the merriment only continued; Ales and Tales was their evening motto: each sharing lewd or comical stories of their encounters.

Buck didn’t participate nearly as often any more – his days of seducing the first maiden or lad he met at port were behind him, he resolved – but he enjoyed their company and called out any appropriate response. He was happy here, in his element, and thoroughly drunk. Most of the men were, in fact. Even those on night watch had ducked inside for a dram and gotten pulled in by another story of the time Tommy had gotten caught with his pants around his ankles and invited the husband to join them in bed.

When the first thunder rumbled in the distance, no one heard it, drowned out by the clash of wooden steins and slosh of open casks.

When the boat rocked harder than it ever had, flying benches and tumbling bodies were attributed to lack of coordination and spinning rooms.

When the smell of smoke pilfered through the stench of sweat and alcohol, it was too late.

“Lightning struck the mast!” one man cried out as they all scrambled to the surface. Sure enough, the Main Royal Sail was ablaze, slowly devouring the fabric and spreading to the edges. Any hope of the torrential rain dousing the flames was dampened by the rigging sparking to life and delivering their ensured destruction with a swing towards more of the ship’s sails. Within moments, the entire upper sheets were burned to ashes, spreading further and further, out of their control.

Buck had never opened the book his mother gave him every time he boarded a ship. She had always tucked it into his hands, telling him it would help watch over him when she couldn’t – he’d almost asked why she hadn’t given him the book on his first birthday if it was meant to keep his safe when she wasn’t around. Instead, he’d kissed her cheek and promised to return home soon. Now, he sent a silent prayer, asking Him – anyone who would listen – to protect his men and let them see the sunrise.

There was little to be done to salvage the ship in its entirety. They knocked over the burning poles and shoved them overboard; they retied new sails to the pieces left behind. They dumped unnecessary provisions that they could reacquire once they reached the nearest port. Their Captain’s commands could barely be heard, but most of the men had spent their adult lives in service of the Royal Navy and knew how to survive the harshest storms.

This; this was unlike any storm Buck had ever encountered. It screamed in his ears like a siren song, beckoning him to the depths below. The waves were unrelenting and rocked the boat in an impossible rhythm. Thunder and lightning surrounded the ship as if the earth herself was trying to trap the vessel in her clutches. And it seemed to be working; the harder the crew worked in tandem, the worse their situation grew.

The fire never died. It seemed whenever they doused one flame, another sprung up and spread faster than before. No amount of retying and hauling would save her if there was nothing left to keep her afloat. Buck stared into the sky, his entire being soaked and frozen. On any other night, he might relish the feeling of being surrounded by water, with the freedom to still taste the salt sea air. Tonight, it was a curse – one he wanted to beg the sky to return. Whatever penance he needed to pay: he would do anything to keep his men safe.

He spit a mouthful of seawater on the already ruined surface, looking up in time to see a beam finally give way to cinders, and come tumbling towards the deck.

Without a second thought, the Prince threw his body against another sailor’s and sent him sprawling in time for the beam to shatter the wood where he’d once been. The consequences, of course, were the solid beam had no cushion as it barreled through every layer of the ship until it reached the ocean floor.

The ship would be impossible to save now, he knew this in his heart but he wasn’t quite ready to abandon his men. As the catalyst of their destruction floated away, Buck tried his best to be heard over the hum of chaos.

“Abandon ship!”

It wasn’t strictly his job. He’d worked hard to feel equal with his men but in this case, he knew they would listen to their Prince and save themselves. It was all they could do now. Buck turned starboard, ready to join his crew – his family – but the world suddenly fell away. His left leg was pulled out from under him and he hit his chin against the deck, scrapping as he found himself dragged backwards towards the hole made by the beam.

He couldn’t breathe. All air left his lungs with the force of the impact against his stomach, increasing pressure building as the wind and rain battered his head and back. Somewhere behind him, he felt his leg being pulled in half. The force of whatever was dragging him under was too great for him to fight.

But he always would.

A quick glance behind him showed that his ankle had been caught on a rope attached to the beam, broken off by the flames but long and tangled enough to ensnare one last victim. The slow pull as he flew backwards gave him no leverage to free himself, so he looked ahead to find anything that would give him time.

Buck clawed at any surface his hands could reach, fingernails scratching and breaking against the planks of wood and broken barrels. If he cared in the slightest, he might notice the shape of his hands morphing into red, torn flesh trailing after him as he called out for help.

The siren song of the shrieking waves was much too loud. The men were boarding the lifeboats as he’d ordered. Though he never regretted for a moment being the last one to leave the ship, he had intended to leave with them.

Too late, he realized he had reached the edge of the deck, legs dangling in the open ocean which had swiftly swallowed the hull. The Prince spared one last look towards the vessel he’d loved for so long, before he was drawn under the waves.

Evan Buckley had dreamed of living underwater since he was a little boy. He’d woken up gasping for air as the waking world felt too dry and stiff compared to the fantasy he’d explored in his mind. His spare moments were always spent near water (at the age of nine, his sister had teasingly called him a fish, and he’d spent a week, only leaving the ocean long enough to sleep and eat. It had been wonderful). He’d agreed with himself that if he were granted three wishes from a djinn, he would use his first to help his people always survive the dreaded winters, his third to free the djinn (provided they lived a peaceful, productive life); his second wish would be for gills.

In his more desperate moments for freedom, the ocean had become an escape; a promise: if it became too much, the water would set him free. The worse his duties on land became, the stronger the call of the sea pulled him towards something. It was crystal blue with a black centre and it sparkled like a prism, showing off the different ways his life could have gone. In every world, he was surrounded by people he loved, doing as much good as he could, near the ocean; always near the ocean. It was his constant, his shadow that he longed to embrace.

It was finally embracing him.

Drowning was an odd sensation.

His first thought was, _at last_ , being pulled under the waves with a huge gulp of air, he was here in the place he’d been longing to be. But it wasn’t right; in all his fantasies, he had control over how he made the transition into the water. This was a theft. He was being dragged against his will, the antithesis of everything the ocean was meant to be.

 _Not like this_. There was no way he would die this way: losing the one freedom he’d longed for, not knowing if his crew were safe, if his sister would be cared for. This would not be the way he entered the underworld – grasping for life and begging for time.

Opening his eyes gave him little context. The world was still too dark, strokes of lightning occasionally illuminated the ocean surface but it was all merely shapes and dull colours. No more vibrant, crystal blue. Everything was subdued under the waves. Snapping in half, he tugged desperately at the rope still locked around his ankle, the limb burning with the pressure he struggled to release. Everything was wrong. It was too tight, the wrong angle, still dragging him down, he couldn’t see what was there. It was hopeless.

Above him, another flash of lightning lit the world below the surface. In a way, it was peaceful here. The crashing waves and roaring wind meant nothing. There was no movement, no other living thing as far as his stinging eyes could see. Even sound was nearly gone. The force of the pull combined with the swallowing vibrations made the universe seem distant. There was Buck, and the rushing water. Everything else was inconsequential. 

He twisted and thrashed, clawing at the surface the way he’d clung to the deck, but it was just as in vain. The harder he kicked at his captor, the heavier his limbs felt. Every muscle seemed to surrender to the possibility of death. Slowly, his strokes grew weaker and the rope tugged less but still continued its journey into hell.

His chest ached with the need to expand. One breath and he’d be able to free himself. His vision narrowed to a yellowish hue dancing around his eyes, seeing barely a sliver of his hands as the reached for the surface. He’d stopped struggling against the pull. His body could only hold on for so much longer.

When his mouth opened of its own accord, Buck was still conscious. He felt the air leave his lungs, replaced with fire as he inhaled whatever he could grasp. There was a still a yellow fog in his mind, dizzy and weak, but it snapped to black with the next flash of lightning. He remembered the tingling sensation as he’d stepped on board the _Angelina_ a week ago. It was the same tingling he’d felt every time he prepared to set sail, like his body was humming with an excitement outside of his mind.

The happy memory he always associated with pins and needles of anticipation were torn apart by the sharp stab of a red-hot poker sliding down his throat. He’d spent his entire life dreaming of the day the ocean would take him away from his life.

Betrayal, was the last thought that floated away.

**Author's Note:**

> [Follow me on tumblr](https://madamewriterofwrongs.tumblr.com)


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